


Accendo

by scarletite



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletite/pseuds/scarletite
Summary: Every ten years, the Fall Witch comes to reap her Maiden. A girl between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one is chosen, taken back to her home in the Darkwood. Ten years, she keeps them. Ten years, then she chooses another. Nobody knows what she does with them, in that lonely tower in the woods, only that they never return quite the same. This year, another Choosing has come. Ruby Rose is about to find out the truth.





	1. The Choosing

Accendo  
_[akˈkɛn.doː]_  
_I kindle or light (a fire)| I inflame or arouse_

* * *

The Fall Witch doesn’t murder the Maidens, no matter what tales are told outside of Patch.

Travelers passing through, who live in the safety of towns like Vale with their own protectors, don’t understand. Outside, all manner of tales are told about the Fall Witch and her Fall Maidens: that she kills them, eats them, steals their soul to fuel her magic. They’re wrong. She is a witch, but she is not a monster. She is their protector, she guards them from the Grimm.

The Maidens aren’t sacrificed, despite what people say; it only feels that way. The Fall Witch takes them away to her tower, deep in the heart of the Darkwood. She keeps them there, away from family and friends. Ten years, she keeps them. Then the Maidens are released, free to leave the woods and return home. But she is never the same. She comes back changed; they’re steely-eyed, they talk differently, and they never stay in Patch for long.

Ruby was only eight years old the last time a girl was chosen, although she doesn’t remember the girl’s name. Nobody likes to talk about them, once they’re gone. When she returned, it was for days. As far as anyone knows, she left for Mistral before the week was out.

“The Maidens can’t handle life here,” Uncle Qrow had told her one day, when she twisted his arm for long enough. She’d been six or seven years old, sitting in his lap as they rode his horse back to town. He’d worn a strange frown as he spoke, looked down at her with an unusual look in his eyes. “Patch is too mundane, too tiny, for what they need.”

Nobody ever talked about the Witch. She was old enough to know that it was that way for a reason. She was also old enough to know that Dad would get angry with Uncle Qrow for talking about it. But Uncle Qrow was different, he spent more time outside of Patch than in it, and he didn’t care about Dad’s rules. Uncle Qrow didn’t much care for anyone’s rules, actually.

She remembers looking up at him, brow scrunched. “What do they need?”

“Now that’s the question,” he had told her, smirking at her confused look. “There’s a big, wide world out there to explore, kid. And Patch? It’s barely a blip on the map. There’s some things you just can’t get here.”

Ruby hadn’t understood then, what he meant. She had grown up her entire life in Patch, working with Dad and Yang on the farm. The only time she’d been allowed out of town was with Uncle Qrow, when he took her hunting in the forest. At the time, she couldn’t fathom it. Patch was her home, her town, her world.

She had wondered why anyone would want to leave. Everybody was afraid of the Darkwood, of the Grimm that lurked inside, but they had been afraid for generations and yet so few people left. Patch was home.

But the Maidens never stayed. They’d come home from the tower in the forest, return to their families, but it was never for long—a few days, a month, little more than that. They always left, bag full of money and jewels gifted by the Fall Witch, and made new lives.

Some travelled to Vale, to take up schooling at Beacon Academy. Others set up shops or schools of their own. Some simply got married. A rare few, she’d heard, even worked their way into the Ivory Court, where the Rulers of Vale resided. There were a few who simply disappeared, gone to different kingdoms or distant lands, who never came back to Patch. Perhaps they all found adventure, in their own way.

To be taken by the Fall Witch isn’t truly a sacrifice, but it’s never a happy trade. The Witch picks a girl, between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one, and steals her away to the tower for the next ten years.

There are ten girls in the Choosing this year, including Yang and herself.

Uncle Qrow’s always been the gambler in the family, but even Ruby knows those are bad odds. There is a one in five chance that her family will lose a daughter tonight, and she knows it will tear them apart. Worse still, she’s not blind to the talking, the fact that the village expects Yang to be taken, because she’s the brightest and the prettiest and the most lively of them all.

The Witch doesn’t necessarily pick the prettiest or the most accomplished, but she always picks the best; the smartest, the kindest, the most talented. Nobody knows how she does it, how she knows. She barely speaks during the Choosing, except to make her choice. But she always picks the best of them.

Ruby is terrified, not for herself—she’s too scrawny, unassuming and awkward, she knows this, and she’s sure the Witch will know it too—but for her sister.

Born a few weeks too early, Yang is twenty-one going on twenty-two, and the most fantastic person that Ruby knows. Yang’s always carried herself with an easy confidence. She’s as brave as they come. She’s strong and smarter than people give her credit for. Yang is unlike anybody else in the village, she stands out like the sun on a cloudless day.

Yang is her world, and Ruby would give anything to make sure that Yang isn’t chosen.

“You’re thinking too hard.”

Ruby looks up from the tree roots she’s nested herself in, turns her gaze from the crimson cloak she’s been wearing between her fingers. “It’s not fair,” there’s a gnawing, empty pit in her belly.

“It’s not, but we have to do it,” Yang stands in front of her, hair like spun gold in the early-morning sun, carefully curled and flowing down her back. Her hands are on her hips. She’s wearing her Choosing outfit—a simple white dress, modestly cut, with simple heels.

“Can’t we just run away?”

Yang laughs, but it’s low, sad—she knows as well as everyone else that she is the prime candidate. “’Fraid not. You know what happens then,” it’s a story they all know, from decades before their birth, of the Maiden who ran and doomed the village to be overrun by Grimm.

Ruby pulls her knees up to her chest, draws her cloak tight around her. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Yang kneels in front of her, even though the hem of her dress brushes the dirt. Her hands are strong as they settle across Ruby’s shoulders, tight and reassuring. She looks at her, mouth open, like she wants to say something. Yang pulls her into a hug, so tight Ruby’s ribs ache. “You won’t.”

“Yang,” her throat constricts, and the pit inside her stomach only grows. Her words come out, thick, wobbly, “Promise me you’ll come back. Don’t—don’t be like the others. You have to come back.”

“I promise. I’ll come back, Ruby,” she whispers it into Ruby’s hair, her hands rubbing her back. “It’ll be alright. It’s not that long.”

They stay like that for a while, hugging in forest beyond their home, beyond the village boundaries. Sitting there, arms around her big sister, face buried in her neck, it feels like goodbye.

“I love you, Yang,” Ruby whispers, muffled against her collar.

Yang smiles, extends a hand to help Ruby up. “I love you too, sis. Now let’s go,” she hesitates, just for a moment, a strange look passing through her eyes, “it’s almost time. You need to change.”

“Okay.”

She holds Yang’s hand for the first time in years and lets her sister guide her home.

* * *

Dad is on edge.

He’s standing at the door when they return, pacing the length of their patio. His hair is messy, frazzled, like he’s spent all day running his fingers through it. The lines around his face are suddenly deeper, they match the weary set of his shoulders.

Zwei is darting around his ankles, panting, like it’s all a game. But he stops the moment he hears them, head cocking. The moment he sees them, he sprints forwards, shooting around their ankles. It’s his excited barking that startles Taiyang out of his thoughts.

“Girls, you’re back!” he lets out a noise of relief, easing out of his pacing, settling heavily on his favorite chair. “Thank the Gods, I thought you’d run off.”

Yang shoots him a grin. “Don’t worry, Dad. We just came to say goodbye to Zwei, isn’t that right, boy,” she laughs, light and without any of the burden that Ruby feels, and leans down to pet him—his stubby tail wags uncontrollably, and he’s wiggling under Yang’s vigorous petting.

Taiyang lets out a wounded noise. “Bested by a dog,” he grumbles, but the lines around his eyes ease a little. “Well—”

“Glynda’s probably prowling the forest,” Uncle Qrow says roughly, appearing in the doorway. “She’d drag you brats back by the ears before you got very far.”

“Uncle Qrow!” Ruby starts forward, a bright smile overcoming her face. “I thought you were in Vale!”

He grunts as she tackles him in a hug, but he doesn’t flinch or stagger under her weight. Uncle Qrow is a Huntsman, he works for the King of Vale, although he never says exactly what it is that he does. But Ruby’s seen him with a sword, seen him fight off Grimm to protect those that venture too far into the woods, and she knows that it must be something super cool.

“Got back early,” he says, a tone of something more bitter than normal in his voice, as he pats her head. “Couldn’t miss the big day. It’s not every day you see your nieces dressed up for ritual sacrifice, after all.”

Taiyang lets out a strangled, angry noise. “Qrow…”

“You know it’s true,” Qrow growls, sharp red eyes on him. “Most witches don’t have such great taste.”

It has all the flavors of an old argument, bitter notes and charged connotations. Ruby knows it is. They’ve had this fight a million times; over the table at dinner, in the living room after they think they’ve fallen asleep, loudly in the middle of her eighteenth birthday.

Uncle Qrow hates the tradition, hates the Fall Witch. Despite everything, despite the protection he knows she offers in exchange, he hates her. He’s made no secret of the fact that he thinks that the Fall Witch is corrupt, that what she asks is extortion, akin to a village-sanctioned sacrifice.

Dad thinks little better of it, though. But he’s filled with the fear that clouds the older generation, those that grew up on tales of how vicious the Grimm are, of what happens when they breach the borders. He hates it too, but unlike Uncle Qrow he doesn’t see a way out. They either trade a girl, once every ten years, or they die.

“Now isn’t the time,” Dad replies harshly. “Not—not today, Qrow.”

Something dark passes through Uncle Qrow’s eyes, and he drops Ruby to her feet unceremoniously. He mumbles something below his breath, voice rough like gravel. He turns, disappears back inside the house, Zwei trotting inside after him.

Taiyang watches him go, the collapses back into the chair, throws his head back. He looks worn, more so than normal. Life on the farm isn’t easy, but Dad’s tough. It’s strange to see him this shattered. It looks something like grief, written in his shoulders, like after Mom—

“Dad,” Ruby settles herself on one side of him on the chair, tucks her knees up next to him, curls her head into the curve of his neck, “it’s okay.”

Yang makes her way up the stairs, settles on Taiyang’s other side. “It’s not so bad, y’know,” she says, and this too is a well-worn argument, because Yang’s always accepted her role. “It’ll be fine, old man. You’ll see.”

He curls his arms around their shoulders, warm and comforting, and squeezes them against him. There’s something uneven in his breathing, as he tucks his chin over top of their heads. “It’s a lot of time for this old man,” he says, lowly, voice thick—the sound of it makes Ruby’s heart lurch, makes her struggle to breathe around the lump in her own throat. “Too long.”

They’re close, closer than most families. After Mom, after Dad’s breakdown, after Uncle Qrow found them in that forest years ago, they’ve been inseparable. They work together on the farm, they eat every meal together, they always talk about their days. The only time they’ve been apart in years is for sleepovers.

Ten years away is ten years too long, the thought feels like lead in her belly, but she can’t say that. So she snuggles into Dad’s side, links her fingers with Yang’s and wonders what, ten years from now, will change. She hopes this never does.

“I’ll just run back here if it gets too boring,” Yang declares, clutching Ruby’s hand tight. “The Fall Witch is no match for a Xiao Long!”

“Or a Rose!” Ruby pipes in.

Taiyang squeezes them tighter, laughs a warm, full-bodied laugh. “That’s the ticket, girls. You’ll both always have your old man. Just say the word, we’ll kick her butt. We’ll sic Uncle Qrow on the Grimm—heh, the smell alone’ll be enough to drive them back to the woods!”

There is an angry, strongly-worded shout from inside that house that makes them all crack. They collapse over each other, laughing, crying, sharing their (hopefully not) last moments as a full family together.

* * *

Sunset finds them in the center of Patch, standing in the town square. There is ten of them, lining up beneath Glynda Goodwitch’s fierce glare. Parents and townspeople stand in groups behind them. There is no talking. Nobody is in a talking mood.

To the north, past where they all stand, a cobblestone road winds its way out of town, into the woods beyond. The road leads to the docks in the north, where one can travel to Vale for trade. But they aren’t expecting a trader, they are expecting the Witch. She always appears at the same time, just before sundown, once every ten years. Nobody ever sees her before or after.

Ruby swallows, fisting her hands in the soft fabric of her dress. She’d loved it, the day Miss Mauve finished sowing it for her, had adored the black-lined-crimson dress and how the silky material felt between her fingers. Now, today, it is nothing more than a source of anxiety. She feels naked, bared, without her cape.

At her right side, Yang stands, staring defiantly out into the distance. To her left, she finds Nora, who for once doesn’t look bubbly or excited; she’s shifting from foot to foot, glancing back at Ren, her best friend, constantly.

“Eyes ahead,” Glynda tells her, pushing her chin forward. “You mustn’t do anything to provoke her. Any of you,” she deliberately breaks off, looking at Yang. “The Witch is not needlessly cruel, but…you would do well not to inspire her anger. It will only make you time with her, should she choose you, more difficult.”

Out of all the Maidens, only Glynda Goodwitch has ever remained. She had been a Fall Maiden once, twenty years ago. Nobody in town ever talked about what she was like before, but everyone who had known her agreed she was different. She largely keeps to herself now, sequestered in her house on the fringes of town. Nobody knows what she does, except that she is often gone without a trace.

Personally, Ruby thinks she is kind of cool, in a mysterious way. She has never spoken about about what happened in the tower, but she exudes the aura of someone otherworldly. She’s the one who found her, years ago, when she’d gone too deep into the forest on her own; she’d returned her to her family, a few choice words and a basket of cookies in hand. Glynda is nice, but scary. She seems almost like a school teacher, between her severe gaze and tightly bound bun. Every time she talks, Ruby feels her back instinctively straighten.

“All of you, remember this. If you are chosen, if you become a Fall Maiden, you are not just doing it for yourself,” Glynda prowls up and down the line as she speaks, straightening dresses and fixing hair, and giving them all an assessing look, “you are doing this for your town. To keep the people you love safe. Let that be your power, hold it close to your heart. In the end, that will be all you have. When you are gone, know that you are there for a reason, and let that keep you warm.”

“In that tower, things will be different, you will be expected to do things and you will see things extraordinary,” she says, and a sudden chill comes of Ruby, something about her words sinking deep into her bones. “She will not seek to harm you, but your life will be at her whim. To that end, I encourage you to maintain an open mind. You may be stuck there, but there is no reason to close yourself off. Take the opportunity, learn what you can. Your days will be very boring otherwise.”

Ruby speaks, almost before she processes it. “What is the Fall Witch like?”

Glynda’s eyes shoot to her. “That, I cannot say. I think it is better to make your own conclusions.”

Without warning, Glynda takes a single, deep breath. Her eyes dip closed for a moment. “It’s time,” she announces, moving to the side, where she can preside over the Choosing. “Ready yourselves.”

In the distance, on the horizon, there is a ripple of orange-red leaves—the namesake for which the Fall Witch draws her name. They drift down from the trees, green leaves changing to auburn, twining in an intricate dance. Between the whirlwind of leaves, a figure takes shape, a black shadow in the distance.

Ruby’s stomach sinks into her feet, her knees trembling.

Just as suddenly as they begin, the leaves fall away.

There is no mistaking the Fall Witch, although she had been only eight years old at the time of the last Choosing. Even from a distance, she can make out the otherworldly curves and the provocative crimson dress she wears.

In the time it takes for the Witch to move from the horizon, as the town falls into pure silence, all Ruby can hear is the sound of her own heart beating. It is as loud as a thunder clap with each beat.

_Tink. Tink Tink._

The heels the Witch wears echo loudly through the town square with each footfall. Up close, Ruby can see more of her. She has long black hair, molten-colored eyes. She looks pretty, flawless, like a painting. If you passed her in the street, she would look like any other girl. The only oddity about is the oddly shifting color of her eyes and the deep veins of gold, shifting and glowing like magma, moving through the edges of her dress.

There is a wave of unease that passes through all of them, as the Fall Witch’s eyes scour across them. She sees the way Yang’s shoulders tense in the corner of her eye. She hears Nora’s huff, as whatever she wants to say is buried in the face of Glynda’s warning glare behind them.

The Witch doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak, doesn’t do anything but scour them with her eyes.

She can hear the townspeople’s anxious chattering behind them, perhaps can even pick her own father’s voice out among the terrified parents and siblings. But it all becomes white noise the moment those molten eyes drift away from Nora and meet her own.

Ruby swallows her squeak—she’s sweating and not in a good way. The silent scrutiny, knowing that she’s being assessed and valued, weighed against nine others, is awful. Not only that, the pressure of knowing that she could be chosen, taken away, to become the new Fall Maiden, is terrifying.

She loves Patch, she doesn’t want to leave, especially not for ten years—she doesn’t want to come back different, changed, unrecognizable to her family.

The eye contact is brief, fleeting.

The Witch moves on before she can really process it.

She manages to get out a single, deep breath, before the reality sets in. Her head swivels, follows the Witch as she moves, stops in front of Yang. There’s a passing of something over the Witch’s face, but it’s gone before Ruby can even begin to decipher it.

“What’s your name?”

“Yang Xiao Long!” Yang says it proudly, brightly, with none of the fear or apprehension that Ruby feels. She’s always admired Yang’s confidence, now more than ever.

There’s a shine of interest in the Witch’s eye, and the way she’s looking at Yang is like a hungry predator. The heat to the look makes Ruby’s heart jump, anxiousness and fear for her sister threading through her veins, and almost without a thought she moves.

Her hand finds Yang’s, she steps closer; she’s never been able to protect Yang before, she’s never needed it, her sister’s always been the protector, but she’s never wanted anything as much as she wants to get the Witch’s eyes off Yang.

The Witch’s eyes dart to her, narrowed, almost angry; there’s a heat in her gaze that has nothing to do with anger, though, it’s something powerful.

“Ruby—” Yang barely gets the word out, before the Witch silences her with a glare.

The Witch slowly turns her eyes back to her. She locks eyes with her, sees her; her gaze pierces her, to her very soul. As if her burning eyes can see through all her defenses, her barricades, to find all of the weak, fleshy parts. She looks at her in a way that makes her entire being squirm.

Regardless, Ruby holds her gaze, eyes determined and mouth tight, the message in them clear— _don’t touch my sister_.

She catches Glynda’s gaze over the Witch’s shoulder, spots a flash of something like surprise over her face. It’s the closest she’s ever come to looking ruffled.

The Witch looks down at her, smiles as sharp as a razor; she looked at Yang like a predator tracking prey, but she looks at Ruby like a cat that got the cream.

“You’ll do.”

_No._

A ripple of noise passes through the crowd, and she thinks she hears her father’s voice raise, but all she hears is white noise. Yang turns to her, eyes wide, talking urgently. Ruby doesn’t process any of it. All she hears is her blood rushing in her veins and the sound of the Witch’s quiet laughter, and she looks pleased.

“My choice is made,” the Witch raises a hand, to call for silence. She looks to Glynda, something meaningful in her eyes, a message. “You have until midnight. I will return for her then.”

Glynda inclines her head. “Of course.”

The Witch looks at her, smirks, presses a hand to the side of her face.

“I will see you tonight, Little Rose.”

Then the Witch is gone in a flourish of burning orange leaves.

_This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t real…_

In a surge of movement, the villagers close in around her in a circle. Her dad and uncle lead the charge, faces pale and urgently speaking.

Ruby doesn’t see them. She stares into space, raises a shaking, pale hand. “She picked me?”

Dad seizes her by the shoulders, shakes her, tears streaming from his eyes. He’s shouting, she knows, but it is distant.

Qrow’s face appears beside Dad’s, eyes dark.

To round off the circle, Yang closes in on other side, hand still clasped in Ruby’s, and she looks equally incensed and anguished.

Her gaze darts between them, between her shouting family, wide-eyed and wild. She doesn’t know what to do. She tries to find words, but fails. She’s just gaping.

Glynda approaches, cuts through the noise and the cluster of relatives. She shoves Qrow and Yang aside, forcibly moves Dad from her. She takes the shell-shocked girl by the arms and looks deep into her eyes with sad green. “You stupid, foolish girl,” she says, lips twisted in a frown, “you have no idea what you’ve just done.”

“I’m sorry…” she croaks. “I just wanted to protect Yang.”

“And you did,” Glynda shakes her head. “But you sacrificed yourself instead.”

Ruby’s jaw works uselessly; she’s struggling for words, for thought, for anything. She feels weightless, cast adrift in a turbulent sea. Ten years, she repeats to herself, belly churning, she’ll be with the Witch for ten years—no family, no friends, no future, only an uncertain life, locked in a tower in the woods, kept at the mercy of a mysterious mage.

Glynda looks at her, something like understanding in her eyes (it makes sense, of course; she’s probably the only person who can understand what Ruby’s going through, about to go through). She links her arm through Ruby’s, grip tight and guiding, and slowly leads her out of the chaos.

“Come, it’s time to prepare.”

* * *

Yang is furious.

Dad is in disbelief.

Uncle Qrow is quiet.

Once her father’s initial crying and Yang’s initial shouting fails to register, Ruby finds herself blindly shepherded to Glynda’s home. On any other occasion, she would have been eager to finally see its interior (floor to ceiling book shelves, a quiet sitting room, a strange assortment of mirrors and artifacts on display), but right now she only feels numb.

Ruby is sitting tucked up on Glynda’s arm chair, a blanket laid over her shoulders and a cup of tea in her hand that she isn’t drinking—her stomach is roiling, threatening to rebel, and she can’t bring herself to choke down the hot drink.

“What were you thinking?!” Yang shouts, and her eyes are blazing. “Why did you do that? You weren’t going to be chosen! You would have been safe!”

Ruby stares up at her mutely, unblinking; shock is a funny thing, mutes the pain, the anguish, even the heat of Yang’s tone feels like little more than a sunburn, slightly abrasive.

“Ten years, Ruby! Ten years of your life! I was prepared to give that up!” Yang screams, undeterred by her silence. “We both know it should have been me! It was going to be me! Why did you do that, Ruby? Answer me!”

Glynda stands at Ruby’s back, places a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Xiao Long, calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?!” Yang returns, and her lilac eyes seem almost edged with red. “How can I be calm! My sister just threw her life away! For what?!”

“To protect you, Miss Xiao Long.”

Suddenly, the rage putters out. Yang stares at her, blinking, mouth opening and closing. “I—what—that’s not the point!” Yang bites the words out. “I’m ready for this! Ruby isn’t!”

Glynda stares at her, unblinking. “In light of today’s events, I believe Miss Rose is more prepared than you would have ever been.”

“Wha—”

“The will to protect those you love is powerful, Miss Xiao Long. More powerful than you can ever imagine,” she shakes her head, pushes her glasses further up her nose. “Miss Rose’s love for her family is the purest, strongest kind of magic, and the Witch can sense that. There’s nothing more powerful than an act of sacrifice made in the name of protecting those you hold dear.”

“I was protecting her,” Yang fists her hands into her dress, her expression torn between angry and broken-hearted. “It was going to be me. She was going to be safe! She could have had a life.”

“Perhaps, but you already accepted it would be you a long time ago, Miss Xiao Long. You may have thought you were protecting her, but reluctant resignation is not the same as a pure sacrifice,” Glynda squeezes Ruby’s shoulder again, grounding her. “Miss Rose, consciously or not, chose to intercede on your behalf. And she made herself a target in your lieu.”

As the gravity of what Ruby did settles with her, all the rage and the ire leaves Yang. The fire fades from her eyes, and she just looks exhausted, older than her twenty-one years. With a deep, heartrending sigh, Yang wobbles uncertainly over to the sofa, draws Ruby into hug.

The contact startles Ruby back into consciousness, restarts the skipping record in her head. “Yang, I—”

Yang’s fingers thread through the back of her hair. “It was supposed to be me,” she whispers, so soft and so sad, “you were going to be fine.”

Ruby’s eyes brim with water, but she can’t cry. She loops her arms around Yang’s back, squeezes her tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay,” Yang’s voice is thick, choked. “I understand. I hate that you did it, but I understand.”

There’s a sob from across the room which draws Ruby’s eyes, and her gaze finds her dad. He’s crumpled against a bookshelf, face pressed into his hands.

“Dad,” she calls, extracting herself from Yang’s grip, from the chair. Her legs wobble and she stumbles gracelessly forward a little before she finds her footing. She surges forward, swallows away the thickness in her throat, and crouches in front of her father. “Dad, look at me.”

Taiyang lets out another sob, a choking, heaving, desperate sound.

“Dad, please,” she reaches forward, cups his face, slowly pulls his palms away from his face.

Slowly, Taiyang looks at her. His eyes are bloodshot and still watering, tears slipping freely, wetting his cheeks and Ruby’s hands. He takes a shuddery breath.

“I love you, Dad. I’ll always love you, that won’t change,” she tells him, leaning forward, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “And I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about me. You…you taught me how to be strong.”

He’s crying still, harder even, and his hands close over hers—his hands are calloused from farm work, but warm and familiar. “I don’t want to lose you,” he chokes, “first your mother and now—”

She shakes her head, cuts him off. “Don’t think like that,” she tells him, severe, “I’m coming back, Dad. You’ll see. I’ll be back before you know it, and we can finally go on that trip to Vale we always talked about.”

Taiyang laughs, but it’s halfhearted, sad. “Is it too late to run?”

For as strong as he is, Ruby knows that Taiyang is a fractured man, splintered and broken by the absence of his first wife and the death of his second. He’s never been the same since Mom died. It took months of Yang, Uncle Qrow and the townspeople prompting him before he did more than curl up in his bed and cry. He’s pulled himself back together over the years, she knows, but she knows that something shattered once is easily broken again.

She doesn’t want to see her father succumb to that dark place again, doesn’t want him to crumble. She’s not entirely sure he’ll ever recover again, if he breaks a third time. It frightens her, almost as much as the idea of leaving does.

But she must do this, she has to go. Patch needs to be protected, and witches are in short supply, especially those powerful enough to protect an entire town alone. She can’t let Patch fall to Grimm.

“Afraid so,” Ruby can feel the tears building in her own eyes, “tell Zwei I said goodbye, okay? And that I love him.”

“Outshone by a dog, again,” Taiyang laughs through his tears, a little lighter this time, and brings her into a bear hug. He buries his face in her hair, takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I love you, kiddo. Remember that. You ever need me, I’ll be there. Not even a witch can stop your old man.”

“I know, Dad,” she replies, muffled into his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Her words are lighter, prettier than she feels. The coils of dread in her stomach only grow as she glances up, towards the massive grandfather clock in the corner. Ten minutes until midnight, she realizes, ten minutes until the witch returns.

Taiyang looks at her, his eyes soft. “You’re just like your mother, you know,” the words are bittersweet, “you’re just as brave and kind as she was.”

Ruby’s throat feels thick. “Dad…”

Glynda is also watching the clock, and it is her voice that finally breaks through their moment. “It is almost time, Ruby,” she says, the words soft but firm. “It’s time to say your final goodbyes.”

Dad squeezes her harder, tighter, until her ribs threaten to crack under his mammoth strength. But she doesn’t complain, doesn’t cry out like normal. This is it, this is happening, and she’ll enjoy their last hug before the moment comes.

“Stay safe, Dad,” she whispers, quaking, into his chest.

There’s a shuffle of moment, and Ruby looks up.

Uncle Qrow stands over them, eyes unreadable. “I’ll take care of your old man,” Qrow tells her, gently prying Taiyang’s arms away from her, helping Ruby to stand. “Don’t you worry, kid.”

She leans up into him instead, hugging her uncle. He’s been there for them for as long as she can remember, as much a parental figure as her dad. Her heart aches at the thought of leaving him, too, because he’s always been her biggest hero, the one she’s idolized and followed the most.

He smells like alcohol, reeks of it really; it smells familiar, comforting, like a warm blanket laid over her in winter, and she realizes it smells like home.

“I’ll miss you, Uncle Qrow.”

He lets out a low, bitter noise. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” the threads of a well-worn argument coming back, “you’re not some damn human sacrifice.”

“I do,” she says, resolute to her very bones. “To keep everyone safe.”

“I know people in Vale, I could try and pull some strings, get some guards in the town, maybe—”

“It would never be enough,” Ruby interjects softly, looking up into her uncle’s eyes, seeing the desperation in them. She plasters on a bright smile. “Don’t worry so hard, Uncle Qrow, you’ll get more wrinkles.”

He lets out a huff. “Brat,” he grumbles, but his arms finally close around her shoulders—he’s never been one for affection, for casual touch, but she knows this is his way of saying he’ll miss her. “It’ll be a lot quieter around here without you.”

Ruby grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll still have Yang to keep things interesting. Maybe she’ll burn down Mr. Opal’s barn again.”

“Hey! That was one time!”

He lets out a weary sigh. “Stay safe, kid. And remember what I taught you.”

She thinks back to their days in the forest, tracking game through the woods; he’d taught her everything she knew about tracking, hunting and gathering, he’d taught her how to use a knife and how to skin an animal. Uncle Qrow had taught her how to defend herself, too.

“Watch my back?”

“That’s my girl,” he laughs, a gravelly rumble against her. “Give ‘er hell, alright? If she expects a pushover from this family, she’s got another thing coming.”

A rush of fondness overcomes her, and she hugs Uncle Qrow harder, wraps him in as much of her as her short arms can reach. He may not be her blood uncle, but he’s her uncle in all the ways that count, and she can’t imagine her life without him. The prospect of life without him, without Yang and Dad and any of her friends, leaves her hollow and aching.

“You better still be here when I get back,” she mumbles into his chest. “Or I’ll drag you back from the afterlife myself.”

He pats her head once, then lets her go. “I’m not that old. I’ve still got a few decades left in me yet.”

“Good, keep it that way,” she commands. “Stay safe, Uncle Qrow. Keep an eye out for everyone.”

Uncle Qrow shrugs, gives her that cocky smirk of his. “When haven’t I?”

Suddenly, Glynda interrupts them, gesturing to the clock—less than a minute until midnight. “Are you ready, Miss Rose?”

Ruby turns to her, biting at her lip. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Glynda nods. “Good,” her mouth opens, hesitates, “don’t forget your family, Miss Rose, or the people that care for you. We will certainly never forget you.”

The words confuse her momentarily, because of course she will never forget her family—they’re all she has, she loves them dearly, she will miss them more than she’s ever missed anything. But before she has the time to do anything more than frown, the clock chimes with the sound of midnight.

“It’s time.”

The Witch arrives.

Up close and indoors, the gathering of leaves is even more beautiful. Without trees to provide the leaves, they slowly appear from the air, orange-red leaves manifesting into a slowly weaving dance. They rustle against each other, a slow drift slowly increasing in speed, until the leaves whirl and twirl faster than she can see, blurring.

Abruptly, a figure steps from them.

Ruby wilts a little as she catches sight of the Fall Witch, some of the resolve ebbing out of her in the face of her new…whatever she is. But she still stands as tall as her small stature lets her, plastering on a brave face, chin up and eyes narrowed slightly—as much for the Witch as it is for her family.

The Fall Witch looks at beautiful as Ruby’s hazy, adrenaline-filled memory allows. Even more so, actually. She’s dressed much the same, in crimson and gold, but her lips are tinted a deep ruby and there’s a red jewel threaded around her neck.

“Well, well,” the Fall Witch murmurs, voice soft but somehow loud as a shout in the stifling room; she’s looking at Glynda, eyes burning, “what a welcoming party.”

Yang stands abruptly from the couch, as Dad struggles to his feet. Uncle Qrow doesn’t blink, but he does tilt his head at her, eyes narrowed, hand drifting towards his belt, where his sword normally rests.

Glynda doesn’t move, but she’s tense by Ruby’s side, arms folded tightly behind her. “We are ready.”

The Fall Witch smiles, slow and something like amused; she looks like the cat that got the canary, and the thought sends ice down Ruby’s spine. “Excellent,” the tone of her voice is like honey, sickly sweet, and she slowly turns her head to Ruby, smile sharpening, “so you are.”

Ruby looks back at her, holds her gaze steady, although she feels distinctly nauseous.

When Ruby doesn’t respond, the Witch’s eyes narrow a little on her. She steps forward, glass heels making soft ‘tink’ noises against the stone floor. _Tink, tink, tink._ She moves forward, until she’s close enough that Ruby can smell the scent of her perfume (something musky, rich). She reaches a hand up, rests it again on Ruby’s cheek.

“Are you ready?” she asks, fingertips tracing the curve of Ruby’s neck. “Speak up, Little Rose.”

She shivers at the touch, licks her lips. “Yes…”

The woman lets out a low laugh, the sound smokey, cultured. “Come, then. It is time to go,” she pats Ruby’s cheek softly, then releases her. “Say your final goodbyes.”

Yang, Dad, even Uncle Qrow, gather her into one final hug. Ruby’s heart aches for them, to go back to their home and sleep for a thousand years. She feels worn, wrung out. Tears drip down her cheeks, spot Uncle Qrow’s shoulder.

Ruby has never been the strongest person, the bravest person, the best person—honestly, she still can’t fully process why the Fall Witch picked her, beyond a simple mistake—but she knows she will need to pretend to be all of these things. To reassure her family, to survive whatever it is that goes on in that tower, she needs to be strong, stronger than she’s ever been.

“I love you guys,” she says, feather soft, slowly letting them go. “I’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

A hand settles on her shoulder, burning with the warmth of a wildfire. Without the protection of her cloak, the familiar weight of her mother’s final gift, the feel burns through to the very core of her being.

“Come, then. It’s time to go.”

Ruby’s eyes water, her hands fist at her sides, as she looks across her family’s faces. They look torn apart, broken, their smiles more fragile than she’s ever seen, and it makes her heart ache to see them like that.

Yang’s eyes burn, narrow, glaring. “I don’t know what you do in that tower,” she hisses at the Fall Witch, fists clenched, bone-white at her side, “but if you _ever_ hurt her, we _will_ come after you.”

A delicate eyebrow raises. “Is that a threat?”

“That’s a _promise_.”

“You would have been a good choice, _Yang Xiao Long_ ,” she says, eyes like molten fire. Her hand comes to rest on Ruby’s head, pets her like a dog, as she smirks over the top of it. “But I think I like this one even better.”

Ruby shivers, makes a strangled sound, at the touch.

“You b—”

“That’s enough, Miss Xiao Long,” Glynda says, stern, silencing Yang with a fierce expression. “You have made your point.”

The Witch’s lip quirks. “Ah, Glynda, so _dependable_ ,” she sings, ignores the way the other woman bristles, spine straightening and mouth setting in a stern line. “You always were one of my favorites.”

Glynda looks away from the molten gaze, to the clock ticking on the wall; there’s an odd expression on her face, something torn between anger and longing. “You should leave, Cinder.”

The Witch lets out a low, ghost of a laugh. There is a spike of heat at Ruby’s back, and the hand goes from petting her head to gripping tightly around her wrist. “Of course,” the way she says it is mocking, edged, “it’s time to get my new pet settled in, is it not?”

Before Ruby can do more than squeak at the tight grip, a flurry of red light and autumn leaves swirls around them, faster and faster. It feels odd, warm, ebbing and flowing. It makes her nauseous, makes her stomach roil and her head ache.

“Ruby!” the shout comes from her father, voice high and tight.

She shakes her head, even though he can’t see it, and swallows down the sickness in her throat. “I’ll be okay! I love you!”

“I love you, too—”

And then, just like that, they’re gone.


	2. Temerity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby has a problem with listening to directions. Cinder is having none of it.
> 
> [“Curiosity and cats, Little Rose,” Cinder’s words are hard, even—a remind of her earlier warning, the casual threat, the one Ruby had ignored. Her eyes flash. “You truly are more than you appear. Though whether you’re a brave fool or foolishly brave, I haven’t yet decided.”]

Temerity  
_[t_ _ɪˈ_ _m_ _ɛ_ _r_ _ɪ_ _ti]_  
_reckless boldness; rashness; foolish bravery._

* * *

Ruby lands on her hands and knees, discarded. The world sways and shudders around her, and she holds her breath, tries to hold back the heaves. The floor beneath her is made of wood, cool against her palms, and she presses her face against it, wills away the dizzying rush.

“It will pass.”

The words scatter over her like the autumn leaves their entrance brings, but she can’t do anything more than groan. “I think I’m dying,” she moans, lets herself slump to the floor. Her stomach still threatens to turn itself inside out.

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” the Witch’s voice is sharp, and Ruby blinks blearily up at her. She’s a bit too disconnected, mind jumbled from the abrupt shift, to be afraid of the crossed arms and raised eyebrow. “You will become used to it.”

“We’re going to do that again?”

“Quit whining,” is the swift retort, and with the sweep of a hand it is like the wind itself gathers around Ruby, pulling her up and setting her on unsteady feet. The Witch’s burning gaze fixates on her own, unimpressed.

Feel distinctly green around the edges, but managing to hold herself together, Ruby softly nods. “Let’s not do that again for a while…”

Without a second thought, before Ruby can do more than squeak, a hand snakes out. The grip is tight on her wrist, almost painful. “If you can complain, you’re fine,” the Witch declares, pulling her hard. “Now come.”

Ruby winces, but allows herself to get pulled along. She crunches through the remnants of the autumn leaves, feels them crack and disintegrate beneath her feet. The Witch’s grasp is an inch from bruising, too tight, but she suspects that complaining isn’t going to do much but antagonize the Witch further.

She almost manages to forget about the grip, awe overtaking her, as she turns her attention to their surroundings. They’re in something like an entrance hall, a small room with an enormous oaken door behind them and an archway leading to stairs beyond. It’s all dark wood, tapestries and cobblestones. There are torches above, floating near the high ceiling, casting warm light across her skin. There are, she notices curiously, no windows.

She feels like an errant child, being pulled up the stairs behind her new captor. The grip loosens, just barely, and she takes the opportunity to jerk her arm back, cradling it to her chest. When the Witch turns back, Ruby gives her a hot look—her temper doesn’t come to a head often, she’s far more mild-mannered than her sister or father will ever be, but she’s got the same hot blood running in her veins.

The Witch’s strange eyes shift, dance with something strange, almost amused. Her lip curls. “You truly are an interesting one, Little Rose,” she says, words like silk and honey. Then she turns, continues up the stairs ahead of Ruby, more graceful in heels than Ruby feels in her flats.

Something twists in her, an uncomfortable feeling in her belly. She’s pleased the Witch somehow with her small act of protest, reaffirmed a choice she’d never wanted made. It’s terrifying, not knowing where she is or anything about her captor, about whether she should be afraid or happy she’s amused her.

Her belly feels like it’s full of stones, heavy, and she follows the Witch with slow steps of her own.

The ascend the circling staircase of the Witch’s tower, passing many doors. It feels like they climb forever, silence and a thousand unspoken things heavy in the air around them, but they probably climb for mere moments.

Her legs, strong from the life of a farmer and a hunter, are tired by the time they come to a halt. Seemingly at random, they stop at a door, just as all the others, of the same dark wood and simple, carved symbols. Her eyes trace a strange pattern, a jagged coil, and the hair on the back of her neck stands on end.

“This,” the Witch says, “will be your new home.”

Ruby’s eyes glance towards the stairs, once. They continue up, but for how long she doesn’t know. The lack of windows and the layers of what she knows is magic sit odd in her bones, makes this whole place feel outside of time and space, impossible. “What’s up there?”

“Mind yourself,” the Witch says, expression sharp in the flickering fire light. “Now is not the time for questions.”

Ruby nods slowly after a long moment, eyes still directed to the stairs. She can’t describe it, the odd pull, the hint of  _something_ clawing at her, calling for her. Her uncle had always said she her instincts were good, but that they will as surely keep her from trouble as they will drag her headfirst towards it. She isn’t sure which way her instincts are guiding her now, but she thinks that here, in the home of a Witch, there can’t be anything good.

As swift as a whip, a hand grips her chin, turns her eyes back forward. The Witch is taller than her, but she is leaning slightly, her burning eyes an inch from Ruby’s. “Curiosity killed the cat, Little Rose,” she whispers, voice low, her thumb stroking the side of her cheek softly. “And it would certainly be a shame to dispose of you so early, hm?”

She nods, again, shallowly; her heart thuds a rapid beat. “Y-Yes, but…”

“Silence,” she murmurs, croons the words, smirking as Ruby’s eyes dart to her crimson-painted lips. “You are not to go up there, understood? Never.”

Ruby hesitates, trying to look away from the harsh stare, but the grasp on her chin is firm and unrelenting. She finds the words almost pulled from her, like physical things, choking her as they escape. “Yes …”

The Witch smiles then, but there is nothing kind in it. “Excellent,” she releases Ruby then, turns back to the door. “Now, enough dawdling, come along.”

Her skin tingles still from the touch, and she rubs her chin with her own fingers, as if trying to ward off the strange heat that always comes with the Witch’s touch. She’s been grabbed and touched tonight far more times than she can remember in her life, and these touches are different from comforting or hugging or all the small, affectionate gestures families give each other. The Witch touches everything like she owns it, like all the world belongs to her and there is nothing she cannot take if she wishes.

The Witch pushes the door open, the heavy bulk shifting with the light touch of a palm. It swings to reveal a hallway, long, with a series of doors and tapestries. As they wander past, Ruby takes note of the insignia on each, an autumn leaf woven in the same gold as the lining of the Witch’s dress. It leaves no doubt who the owner of this place is.

“Tomorrow, I will show you your bounds,” the Witch declares, as the reach the end of the hall. “For now, I will give you just this. A room, yours alone.”

There are floating baubles of starlight plastering the ceiling. As the door opens, the stars flare to life, lighting up the room in muted tones, their lights cool and calm, unlike the hot, bright lights of torches. They paint constellations she knows by heart.

“Woah…” Ruby breathes, feet towing her inside after her companion, numbly taking in the surroundings. “It’s beautiful…”

“A remnant of my last,” the Witch’s tone is strange, something Ruby can’t place. “Feel free to change it as you wish. I care not. I’m sure you will find this place very…accommodating.”

Ruby eyes the bed, it is enormous, two of three times the size of her own. It’s covered in what must be a half-dozen pillows, light blue blankets, a shaggy throw. It looks more comfortable than anything she’s seen in her life. Before the smart, reasonable side of her can speak up, the childish side takes over and  _demands_ she test it out.

“Incoming!” she shouts, flops hard on the bed, belly-first; it resists, for a second, then she’s sucked into it like a cloud. “Ooh, that’s nice.”

There’s a sigh from across the room, and she spots the Witch with an unusual look on her face, not amused or angry but maybe a little surprised. “I suppose the sentiment ‘make yourself at home’ is a needless one,” is the measured response, as an eyebrow raises.

Ruby twists around, fights the unyielding fabric of her Choosing dress, to look back at the Witch properly. “This room is all mine?”

“Yes. There is a bathroom with all you should need through there, and some suitable clothes as well,” she gestures to a door, tucked in the corner beside a large closet with a mirror. “Be bathed and ready in the morning. I will collect you then, and we will discuss the rules of your stay and what your place will be here.”

“Rules?”

“Everybody has rules, Little Rose, my home is no different. For now, I give you only one,” the Witch held up a single finger to punctuate her point, narrowing her eyes at Ruby. “Do not leave this room.”

Ruby sits up then, curious, suspicious, more than a little confused. “Why?”

“Because I’ve asked it of you, that should be reason enough,” the Witch’s gaze pierces her, through skin and bone and down to her very soul. “Don’t think, obey.”

A moment of silence passes between them, and Ruby licks her lips; she’d licked the remnants of her lip gloss off hours earlier, the sweet bubblegum flavor too tempting despite Yang’s reprimands, but the habit is hard to break.

The Witch nods at her once, then turns to leave.

“Wait!” Ruby speaks before she realizes it, a question that’s been lingering in the back of her mind now for a while. “What do I call you? I mean, everybody in town just calls you ‘the Fall Witch’ or just ‘the Witch’, but even witches have names, right?”

There’s a small, ever so slight huff of breath, what one would almost call a laugh. “You are just as interesting as I believed,  _Ruby Rose_ ,” she says, words honeyed, and Ruby startles at the way she says her name, not the strange nickname she’s chosen, and at the strange tremors she feels deep inside at the words. “You are correct, even witches have names. I am the Fall Witch, the Spirit of Autumn, Queen of the Harvest. But those are merely titles. You may call me…Cinder.”

“Cinder…” she ponders the name as she says it, suddenly recalls the way Glynda had said that same name, terse but longing. It’s a name of burning, of embers, of pervasive life and slow death all at once—and, she thinks, a perfect name for her new captor. Ruby’s never been the poetic sort, but even she can appreciate the irony.

It’s a funny name for the Fall Witch, for a witch said to embody the power of all the season entails. She thinks of Fall, of long harvests and bountiful resources and curling up before the fire to chase away the impending press of Winter. Fall has never been a time for sadness, not for Ruby, it’s a time for happiness and togetherness.

Not this year, though. This Fall she will miss the harvest, will be locked here in this unfamiliar tower, with a strange witch, living a life she’s never wanted. All Ruby has ever wanted is to be happy, to laugh with her sister, to cook with Dad, to hunt alongside Uncle Qrow, to maybe have a few adventures; but at the end of the day, she wishes for things to stay the same.

She feels, suddenly, keenly alone.

“Good night, little one,” Cinder purrs the words over her shoulder, with one final, burning glance. “Sleep well.”

With that, Cinder sweeps from the room, the door slowly swinging shut behind her.

Ruby watches her go, silent, unable to speak over the thickness in her throat. Her fingers dig into the comforter, and with a pathetic noise, she reaches for the pile of pillows, bringing the biggest one to her chest. She squeezes it hard, buries her face into it to muffle the quiet, shuddering sound of her sobs.

It’s all wrong, so wrong. The bed is too wide, the room too big, the pillows too soft. It isn’t the small, cramped bedroom she shares with Yang, with her favorite red comforter and a horde of stuffed animals she’s never quite gotten rid of. There’s none of Yang’s quiet snoring, there’s no second body, the room is cold and empty and unfamiliar.

Ruby curls up in her strange, too-quiet room, and wishes she could go home.

* * *

 

There’s no window in her room, or in the tower itself from what she’s seen. Without the sun or the sky, Ruby’s perception of time is skewed. There’s heaviness under her eyes and in her shoulders, that tells her it’s far too late or far too early. She’s weary with the kind of exhaustion that normally only comes with giggling at sleepovers and pretending to be asleep when Dad peeks in.

Ruby yawns, jaw cracking, then sighs.

It feels like hours since Cinder left and she feels every one of those hours acutely. She’s annoyed, bored and ready to pass out, but sleep still refuses to come. Her mind is too busy; thoughts of her new home, of Cinder, of her family, of everything, keep her awake. No matter how many pillows she piles on, how tightly she wraps herself in blankets, she just can’t fall asleep.

When squeezing the pillow in a tight death grip and forcefully trying to will herself to sleep doesn’t work, Ruby sighs and sits up. Smothering another yawn, she discards the pillow. She’s tried everything she can think of, but nothing seems to work, for how exhausted she is there’s just no falling asleep. There’s only one solution left.

Ruby pulls herself out of bed, straightens the pajamas she’s wearing—she’d found them in the closet, dark cotton with little rose symbols. She blinks as her feet meet unexpected softness. A plush rug of what must be wolf fur sits unassumingly at the foot of the bed. It’s strange, because she remembers padding back from the bathroom, barefoot, and wishing the cool,  _empty_  floorboards had a nice, warm rug to walk on.

She shakes away the strange tingle at the base of her neck. The rug was probably there before, she tells herself just to dissuade the weirdness of it all. She was probably too tired to notice.

“Weird…” she murmurs to herself, rubbing her eyes.

Focus, she tells her scattered brain. There’s only one method, Ruby tested and Taiyang approved, that’s always managed to put her to sleep. A glass of warm milk, maybe some cookies if she can find them. It’s her favorite way to fall asleep, with the memory of a simpler time, when her mother had still been alive and she’d put them all to bed with fresh-baked cookies and warm milk.

She wonders what her mother would think of her, of what’s happened.

Ruby doesn’t remember much of Summer Rose, she died when Ruby was only a few years old, but she’s grown up on stories about her. Mom was an adventurer, like they’d all been—Dad, Uncle Qrow, Mom, Yang’s Mom—and she had fought all manner of monsters and explored Remnant. Mom was brave, strong, amazing, and Ruby wishes she could be like her.

She hopes her mother would be proud of her now, because she may not be an adventurer or a monster slayer, but she’s protecting Patch all the same. The only shining glory in all of this is that her town, her family, are safe. No matter how much it hurts, how much she wishes she didn’t have to, Ruby would give her life to save what she cares about.

When Ruby gets to the door, she half expects it to be locked and bolted, sealed tight with some form of magic. Nobody’s sure how the Fall Witch’s powers work, what forms and abilities they take, but she knows enough (and has seen enough now) to know not to discount the possibility of  _anything._ Still, the door swings open under her hand, easy.

Padding out into the hall on bare feet, Ruby rubs at her tired eyes. She’s never been one for late nights, farm work has its way of putting everybody to sleep before the owls come out.

There are four doors in the hall, and Ruby tentatively tries all of them, searching for a kitchen. Nothing is locked, which she finds strange. As far as she’s concerned, if she was a spooky witch living in the woods, picking a stranger to live within its walls for  _ten years_ at a time, she would keep her doors locked with some sort of awesome spell. It seems like a total waste of powers, if you ask her.

She finds room with a few armchairs tucked around a fire, a room packed to the brim with racks-upon-racks of clothing, an empty room, and one full of dust-covered chests. Although all the rooms interest her, there’s no sign of a kitchen.

When none of those rooms prove useful, she decides that the kitchen must be on another floor. There are more than a dozen floors between here and the entrance, surely one of them must hide a kitchen. Even witches need to eat, right? Well, maybe not. Magic aside, Cinder seems like the sort of person to survive on black coffee and dark wine, not milk and cookies.

She’s even more surprised when the door to the hall opens, the sigil on the door flaring once, bright purple, then fading. There’s an odd spark to the door, a strange feeling that passes over her and makes the hair on her arms rise.

“That’s weird,” Ruby murmurs, swallowing a shudder.

She half-expects Cinder to appear in a storm of amber leaves, drag her back to her room, but there’s…nothing. After a tense moment, hand on the door handle, she steps through. It clicks softly shut behind her.

Ruby lingers outside the door for a moment, eyes turned up the stairs, towards the twist of the ascending walls beyond. The strange feeling rises again, urging her to climb them, to figure out what’s calling her. The curiosity in her chest is so fierce that it’s almost burning, smoldering within her ribcage.

A sound, faint, pierces the quiet, rises over the crackling of the torches. Voices, Ruby realizes, too quiet to understand what they’re saying. The sound is drifting down the staircase, carried from the forbidden reaches beyond. By the low, measured cadence, she identifies Cinder’s voice, then two others, one deep and distinctly male, the other higher and female.

 _Who could she be talking to,_ Ruby wonders to herself, because the Fall Witch has always been isolated, lonely, a distant protector in the forest, talking with no one and never venturing into town on any day but the Choosing. She’d always thought of the Witch as reclusive, with no companions other than her Maiden.

The Witch’s warning sits in the back of her mind, heavy like a physical thing. The pressure of her touch on Ruby’s chin, the slight dig of nails into skin, comes back to her. The soft, purred words:  _curiosity killed the cat._ There’s another part to that saying, that affection brought it back, but Ruby suspects that the Witch doesn’t care for that verse.

Before Ruby knows it, her feet are carrying her upwards. The stone staircase is cold against her bare feet, her steps muted but thunderously loud in her own ears. This is a bad idea, a terrible, awful, completely moronic idea, but, well…

Ruby has never been very good at following rules.

There’s no grand difference between these halls and any other, she discovers as she ascends even farther. The same torches crackle, the same stone walls and stone stairs. It’s almost disappointing, she’d imagined red carpets and magical banners and awesome displays of some old, super badass magic. It’s almost underwhelming.

The voices only grow louder as she climbs, until she starts to separate the muffled sounds into something resembling words. Two of the voices are more distant, fuzzy, like when Yang shouts for her from another room. But one voice, unmistakably the Witch’s, is closer.

_“…need to move…”_

_“—catching on…sent that scorpion freak…”_

“You aren’t to engage him,” Cinder’s voice, the serious tone, laced with something that Ruby can’t place, makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. “That will only confirm her suspicions. I need your eyes. We cannot afford to lose her now.”

_“I know…trying, but she’s…got them hunting.”_

_“…we’re safe for now but…magic is…can’t keep it up…”_

Ruby’s brow furrows as she approaches the door, the snippets of conversation she can decipher sitting strangely in the back of her head. She’s not sure what Cinder’s talking about, who she’s talking to, but it sounds serious, a dangerous tone to the Witch’s voice.

It doesn’t take much to track down the source of the voices. As she rounds the bend, a warm, bright light slices through the dark hall, radiating from a cracked-open door. Slowly, she approaches the door, presses her body to the cool stone and peeks through the gap, heart fluttering nervously, like a little kid trying to sneak a cookie after dark.

It’s a library, she wonders, much bigger from the outside than the room would suggest. Rows of bookcases filled with leather-bound tomes, stretching up into a ceiling she can’t spot the end of, no matter how she cranes her neck. There are torches on the walls, candles on dark-wood desks, but they’ve all burned low.

Ruby’s eyes find the center of the room, to the rich, luxurious leather chaise. Perched with her back to Ruby, the figure of the Witch is still unforgettable, unmistakable. There’s a dark, wine-filled glass in Cinder’s hand. A bright light beyond the Witch’s shoulder catches her eyes, turns the liquid in her glass into a strange, velvet red.

The sight that meets her is so strange, unbelievable, Ruby almost forgets herself, mashing a hand over her mouth the strangle the exclamation. “Mm?!”

In the very center of the room, encircled by candles, a fire-bright light burns. Like the stars that had made up the ceiling in her room, the light white-bright and almost too beautiful to look at. But these lights don’t form constellations, they form figures. Two shapes, male and female, pale and washed-out, like they’re made of pure moonlight.

 _“…so useless, just moving from place to place,”_ the male growls, his incandescent form flaring as he reached up, roughly raking his hand through his hair—the ends flared, bubbled at the edges, like fire.  _“I think we should just make a move. Take out her lackeys.”_

Cinder’s shoulders shift, the grip around her glass tightening. “Thankfully, I don’t need you to think—I need you to obey,” her voice is sharp, dark, colder than Ruby’s heard it since they met—there’s a warning there, dangerous, and it makes the hair on her arms stand on end. “Keep moving. Don’t confront them. We are not ready yet.”

 _“Whatever you say,”_ the male scoffs, arms crossing.  _“But I’m getting real sick of living in caves and mud.”_

The female shape delivers a sharp whack to the male’s shoulder, her ethereal expression frustrated.  _“We’ll move tomorrow, Cinder,”_ the woman turns her gaze back to Cinder, frowning.  _“We’ll be out of contact for a while.”_

The Witch brings the glass to her lips, taking a deep sip. “Very well,” her words are tight, tone filled with something Ruby couldn’t understand. “Remember what I said. We have months, at most. She’ll know we’re coming.”

 _“Yeah, yeah, only got one shot, or it’s another ten-years of darkness_ ,” the male scowls, his tone annoyed, like it’s a conversation they’ve had a million times. Ruby leans further into the door jamb, eyes narrowing—there’s something strange about him, something that makes her stomach knot.  _“Have fun with your new pet.”_

Cinder doesn’t shout, but her tone is frosty. “Mind your mouth, Mercury,” the torches in the room burning higher for a long moment, silhouetting her dangerously. “Or I’ll see fit to take everything back.”

 _“Tch, whatever,”_  Mercury looks away, arms still crossed, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Now, Emerald,” the Witch drawls deliberately, turning her attention to the smaller figure, “is there anything else?”

The girl shakes her head, eyes flitting between the chastened male and the intimidating woman.  _“No, ma’am. They’ve been keeping quiet, for now.”_

“Gathering strength, presumably. She’s no fool, even there, she knows the time is fast approaching,” Cinder lets out a sigh, standing, setting the half-empty wine glass down on a side table. “Very well. That is all. Keep your eyes open and your guards up. Until the time comes, we can’t afford to lose out advantages.”

The two moonlit figures nod, exchanging a look Ruby can’t parse. The whole conversation, barely understood, passes through her head—they’re hunting somebody (or being hunted?), and whoever ‘she’ is gathering power, for some reason?

More than anything, Mercury and Cinder’s words haunt her— _another ten years of darkness,_ she thinks to herself,  _what does that mean?_

 _Darkness,_ she thinks again, the words coiling painfully in her chest. The way he’d said it, so flippant but loaded with something knowing, intent. Unbidden, the sound of snarling fills the back of her mind, she sees razor-sharp teeth and crimson eyes, flashing in the darkness of old, gnarled trees.

Ruby swallows thickly, shakes away the old memory, the taste of blood on her tongue.

“Now, go.”

And, like that, the conversation is over. Cinder’s hand sweeps, sparks of something coming from her hand, latching to the shapes of Mercury and Emerald. The lights flare, once, twice, then explode.

Ruby blinks away the spots behind her eyes. When she opens them again, the human shapes have faded into little balls of light. Like stardust on the wind, they float away, pulled towards the dwindling candles and torches, stoking them back to roaring life.

Ruby is so caught up in staring at the lightshow that she doesn’t fully process the Witch’s sudden turn. It’s not until the door flies fully open and a furious, molten gaze fixates on her that she freezes, caught—the kid with their hand in the cookie jar.

“My, my,” Ruby tries to take a step back, as Cinder’s biting tone penetrates the sudden silence, but she barely stumbles back a step before something catches her. “You’re a nosy one, aren’t you?”

Ruby struggles legs kicking and arms flailing, but tendrils of something unseen pull at her neck, at her arms. The same warm, magic wind that had once set her on her feet now drags her off them. “Ack!” she chokes, dragged through the doorway and into the library. “Stop!”

She stumbles and falls, knees and palms dragging harshly across the stone floor. Ruby hisses in pain. If she survives this, she knows she’s going to have some wicked bruises and scrapes. Her struggles do nothing to cast off the tendrils of wind, no longer warm but burning, hot like fire, squeezing her chest tight and dragging her forward by her wrists.

Cinder stands before her, and forced to her knees like Ruby is, she looks like a giant—a titan, impossibly perfect, an incredible force burning in the air around her.

“Tell me,” a hand seizes her chin, but there’s nothing kind about it; the grip is tight, bruising, and the heat of her touch makes Ruby hiss. Her thumb, nail sharp, taps at Ruby’s lip. “Do you make a habit of creeping around other people’s homes? Deliberately defying orders? Hm?”

Ruby stares upwards, heart racing, torn between fight or flight—and, by nature of the magic coiled around her, kept from either. “I—I didn’t mean to!” she chokes the words out, swallowing against the invisible tendril wrapped around her throat.

“Mm, really?” Cinder smiles, a flash of white teeth. “Then what  _were_ you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and when I can’t sleep my dad makes me warm milk! I tried everything else and nothing worked so I was trying to find the kitchen! Then I heard voices, which I thought was weird, because, y’know, how many visitors does a witch in the forest get? Not a lot, I thought, so, I came up, and I saw those people, and…” Ruby looks upwards, the frantic babbling dying in her throat at the look of ire that crosses the Witch’s face. “D-Don’t kill me! I’m too young to die!”

“Curiosity and cats, Little Rose,” Cinder’s words are hard, even—a remind of her earlier warning, the casual threat, the one Ruby had ignored. Her eyes flash. The grip on Ruby's face loosens, ever so slightly, but she keeps the girl's eyes fixated on her. “You truly are more than you appear. Though whether you’re a brave fool or foolishly brave, I haven’t yet decided. Still…”

Ruby flusters under the intent gaze, wishing the tendrils wrapped around her would loosen, let her have more air. Between the magic encasing her and the Witch’s touch, she’s burning all over, sweat on her brow and breathing tight. “Still…?” she wonders, after a moment, brave.

“You disobeyed my orders,” Cinder says, eyes dark once again. “And that is not something I suffer lightly.”

The way she phrases it sends a spike of fear into Ruby’s heart. “Why?”

Cinder tilts her head, waiting.

“Why didn’t you want me up here?” she asks ( _bravely foolish, or foolishly brave_ , she thinks hysterically to herself, _Uncle Qrow always said I had a bit of both in me),_ meeting the stare with a frown. “Who were they—Mercury and…Emerald? They said something about darkness…”

Fingernails dig into her skin a little harder, and Cinder crouches a little lower, the hem of her dress riding up to reveal more thigh—not that Ruby looks, too caught up in the fierce gaze. “You’re trouble, aren’t you? Tell me, have you always aggrieved those around you so?”

Ruby thinks of Uncle Qrow, of Dad, of Yang…of Mom. She tips her head up, defiantly, and sets her shoulders despite the tight squeeze there. “Nope,” she seizes the rest of her bravery, channels her uncle, and glares directly up into Cinder’s eyes. “But it’s been a very, _very_ long day. Forgive me, I’m feeling rebellious.”

That, surprisingly, startles an amused sound out of the Witch. Not so much a laugh, just a small huff. The fingernails lose some of their bite. Abruptly, the tendrils let her go, leaving her to drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes, much like she had earlier that evening.

“Trouble, most definitely,” Cinder asserts, more to herself than to Ruby. She straightens, standing to her full height over her. “Come, then. I’m sure we can find something to occupy those rebellious hands of yours.”

Ruby struggles to her feet, overcome with the sudden freedom. Her breathing comes easier, and she shakes out the tension in her limbs. Her palms are scraped raw, and even through the thick material of the pajamas, she can feel the stinging of similar battle scars on her knees.

The Fall Witch watches her stand, arms crossed delicately over her chest.

“…Cinder?” she asks, after a moment.

The usage of her name, given but not yet voiced, makes Cinder’s eyes sharpen on her. “What is it?”

Ruby worries at her lip with her teeth, debating—the depths of her bravery feel tapped out, and she’s leery about making the Witch angry again, because she doesn’t want to be shipped back to her family in a coffin. In the end, though, the lingering feeling of discomfort in her stomach rears its head. “What did it mean? Mercury, he said something about…ten years of darkness?”

Cinder stiffens. “That is none of your concern. Now come.”

Swallowing back the bitterness in her chest, Ruby follows Cinder out of the room on heavy feet, casting one last look back into the library. The circle of candles on the floor, blacker than night, are burned out, billows of strange, dark smoke still drifting from their wicks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I am the worst. Honestly, I've had about 3,500 words of this chapter done for months now, but between going back to university and generally being the world's worst human being, I haven't gotten around to finishing it until now. Please, form an orderly line, you'll all have your chance to pelt me with rotten fruit.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the novel by Naomi Novik, Uprooted. I haven't read the entirety of the book, but this story only borrows the idea of the 'Dragon' and the Choosing, after that it is going to be my own plot development. 
> 
> This was originally going to be my Nanowrimo for 2016, but I fell off the wagon after around 6000 words. I just picked it back up today, and thought it was a shame to keep it as a WIP.


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